Page 100 of Marcello

We knew where Luciano’s mistresses were.

We had a plan to leverage Luciano to get into the Amato compound.

Now we were just practicing the SWAT shit, over and over and over.

Cesare had reached the limits of his patience. With his ADHD-addled temper barely in check, he went on at least one rage-induced bender every week.

One time, he killed a prostitute because she was taking too long to make him come.

I had to dispose of the body.

Another time, he beat to death one of our 17-year-old drug dealers who didn’t answer him respectfully enough.

I had to dispose of that body, too.

I desperately wanted out.

Every day I thought about splitting and never coming back…

But I knew what would happen to my mother, sister, and brother if I did.

So I stayed.

I needed something to trade Fausto for my family’s safety.

And after seven long years in the bowels of hell…

I didn’t know if it was ever going to show up.

One Friday morning, Cicciobello and I had to clean up another one of Cesare’s messes: a teenage drug dealer he’d shot when the kid had come up ‘light,’ meaning he didn’t turn in as much money as he should have. For Cesare, it was ironclad proof the guy was stealing from the clan.

I peered down at the baby-faced kid on the filthy floor of a back alley, wondering Am I EVER going to get out of this hell?

Or am I going to wind up like this kid someday?

Then Cesare counted the money again.

“…oh,” he said, mildly surprised. “He did have it all.”

I stared at him in shock.

You have got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME.

Cesare shrugged, unconcerned, as he pocketed the cash.

“Get rid of it,” he said as he walked away.

Get rid of IT.

Not HIM –

Not ‘the 14-year-old I just killed’ –

IT.

I swear to God, I was right on the verge of pulling my gun and shooting Cesare in the back of his fucking head –

When Cicciobello whispered, “Sometimes I wonder why I put up with this fuckin’ shit.”